


I Wonder How I Got By This Week

by cowpoke69



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Edgy Oswald, F/F, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nerdy Ed, POV Edward Nygma, Prompt Fic, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpoke69/pseuds/cowpoke69
Summary: Someone gave me this prompt on twitter: Oswald and Ed meet at a McDonald's. So here you go.





	I Wonder How I Got By This Week

Edward Nygma was a creature of habits. Every Friday night, after his classes, he did the same thing. It was his little ritual; his own way of making sure that he was still in control of his life. Something he deeply needed, especially when everything else in his life seemed to be going sideways.

Life at home was hell, his school work took most of his time and efforts, and the few friends he had made in high school were all as busy as him, if not more. So there he was, browsing through the stacks of books at the bookshop opposite the movie theatre. At _Isa’s_ just like everyone else in the neighborhood liked to call it.

Books first, then movies, then food. It was always in that specific order, and nothing ever changed. Not since he had forced himself to go out at least once a week in order to keep his sanity. So far, this was working. He had started doing this in autumn, at the beginning of the school year, and spring was already here.

Edward was a regular at the bookshop and the lady owning the place did not really mind it anymore when he spent forty minutes or more looking at the shelves without purchasing anything. He allowed himself to buy a few books at the end of each month, depending on how much he had managed to save. 

And today marked the end of the month. It took him only a few minutes to find the book he had coveted for a long time. It was an original edition, costing much more than some of the textbooks he owned, but it was worth it. When he went to the front desk to pay for it – in cash, as always – the lady gave him an impressed look, her eyebrows raising above the rim of her black and gold glasses.

“Good choice. Did you read his other works?”

Ed gave her the money before she even asked for it, carefully spreading the bills on the counter. Forty dollars. No more, no less.

“All of them. Religiously,” he replied, shooting her a quick smile.

She put the book in a Kraft bag before handing it to him. Edward held it close to his chest, his fingers squeezing the package like a newborn baby. He was not entirely happy, but content enough to allow himself to forget about the awfulness of his week for a little while. When he left the bookshop with his new copy of _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , Edward felt paradoxically much lighter than before.

His solo date at the movie theatre went well. The movie was actually much better than what the critics had said. And it was showing only in a few select theatres, so he felt lucky. And when the credits rolled, he had to go to the bathroom in order to check how messy he probably looked after having cried during the majority of the film. And he wondered, while looking at his reflection under the pale light of the bathroom, if it meant that he was finally getting better.

Allowing himself to feel, his therapist had said, was one of the first signs of a healthy recovery. And for the first time in ages, he did not feel empty or numb. He felt sadness, empathy. An array of emotions that had nothing to do with the passing of his mother. He smiled at his reflection, weakly, wondering if the passing of time had anything to do with it, or if he should rather be thankful for the therapy. 

He left the theatre around midnight and headed towards the last stop on his list. McDonald’s. He could not explain why, or how he ended up there every Friday night, but it still happened every time. He knew, deep down, that their food would never replace his own cooking, that their French fries were probably made under unsanitary conditions and that the employees probably wondered why he came here to do his reading and other school assignments, but he still pushed the glass door separating him from the inside of the establishment.

There was something comforting and familiar about the way the same girl took his order and the soft whispers coming from the few other customers sounded like white noise after an hour or so. Some of them were too drunk to speak properly, others just tired and enjoying their food in between yawns and complaints. He needed the distraction, and above all the sentiment that he was not completely alone, even though he was aware that sitting alone in a corner of a McDonald’s on a Friday night was far from being social.

He sat in his preferred spot after getting his order: French fries, a bottle of water and apple slices stored in a plastic packaging. It was too late to get a burger, and he did not like the way the cheese tasted like everything but cheese. He enjoyed the view from the second floor of the fast-food, sitting on a stool across one of the large windows. He was alone, apart from two younger girls who were too busy whispering sweet nothings to each other to notice his presence. One of them had long ginger hair and the other had short cropped hair, the color an unnatural – almost white – blond.

Edward smiled upon seeing them, internally congratulating them for being too enamored by each other to pay him attention. Love had many forms, he had seen most of them, and this one was strong enough to render them oblivious to their surroundings. Edward looked back at the busy street and the groups of friends calling cabs, the couples holding each other’s hands and the GCPD officers trying to maintain a semblance of order, and he wondered if any of them ever felt the need to unplug their brains from the rest of their bodies.

He did, way too often, but he basked in the knowledge that tonight, he actually enjoyed the company of his own thoughts. His phone buzzed, almost making him jump off of his seat, and he checked the screen to read the notification. It was a text message from his boss at the records store, asking him if he could cover the next morning's shift. He agreed, reluctantly, before turning off his phone and putting it back in the back pocket of his jeans. He would have to go home earlier tonight. And after a quick calculation, he figured that three hours of sleep would do.

He ate while reading the preface of his newly acquired book, ignoring the loud smacking coming from the two girls every time they kissed each other. He figured they were probably drunk when one of them ran towards the bathroom to vomit while the other escorted her, screaming her name when she almost threw up on what he assumed were her shoes. Ivy. And the other was Barbara. Everything made sense when he saw their faces as they came back from the bathroom. 

They had gone to the same high school in the southern part of the city, a few blocks away from The Narrows. They both were two years younger than him and when they sat back on their chairs, Barbara looked at him and her mouth fell open. She recognized him. How could anyone from high school forget about Edward Nygma.

“Dang, Ivy, do you see what I see?” she rose up, making her way towards Edward who was putting his book back inside of his backpack. He did not want any bodily fluids ending up on his prized possession.

“Barbara, glad to see you’re still—alive,” Edward replied, accepting her hug with a grimace. She smelled like roses and absinth. A memorable concoction.

“How’s life?” she asked, turning her head in Ivy’s direction to see that she was still sitting on the same spot, looking into the void, “We’ve lost her. Totally.”

“Well, I’m doing much better than her, that’s for sure,” Edward joked, actually surprised to see that Barbara was taking it pretty well. 

They had been acquaintances in high school, nothing more, but to this day, she remained one of the few people who had looked at him without any judgment during the two years they spent in the same school. Him and his two close friends. They had been called many names over the years, but one had stuck to them like glue. 

“How are the other members of the Nerdy Trinity doing?”

“Fine.” Edward replied, “Lucius is studying Computer Science in Metropolis and Jeremiah—well, you know him. He doesn’t need a degree.”

“I do know him,” Barbara trailed off, “what the hell?”, she was suddenly much more focused on the new addition to their little party than on their conversation.

Edward followed her gaze and almost let out a surprised sound, which turned into a fit of coughing at the last minute. He fumbled with the cap of his water bottle for three extremely long seconds before being able to drink from it. He ignored the fact that some of the water was dripping down his chin and onto his dark green hoodie. Oswald Cobblepot had just entered the men’s bathroom, which had just made the night even more entertaining.

Barbara looked back at him, genuine concern twisting her delicate features, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Edward nodded, screwing the cap back on the water bottle before wiping the liquid around his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that—”, he stopped himself before ending his sentence, because he – himself – did not fully know what had provoked such a reaction on his end.

Half of his mind opted for the fact that he had seen Oswald’s face on the Gotham Gazette more than once, but the other knew that it was certainly because he had always admired his infamous exploits from afar. 

He was thinking so hard that Barbara exclaimed, “I know! You’re starstruck. Cute. Maybe you should go in there and talk to him?”

“What?” Edward was now proceeding to stuff the remaining of his apple slices on the front pocket of his backpack.

If there was something he could usually feel coming, it was awkward situations. And he knew that for Barbara Kean “awkward” meant exciting. He did not want to give her the pleasure to witness him losing his wits in front of Oswald Cobblepot, specifically. Which led him to shoot a concerned look at Ivy before wearing his backpack in an attempt to leave the premises as soon as possible.

“You should bring her home. McDonald’s aren’t the best place to sober up.” Edward extended a hand towards Barbara, he had to leave before Oswald came out of the bathroom, “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay but I need to leave.”

“Where are you going? The night is young,” Barbara smiled at him, revealing her perfectly white teeth, “and full of promises.”

Edward lowered his arm, quickly understanding that she was not going to let him go so easily. He was growing restless, the heel of his left foot furiously tapping against the sticky floor. However, he did not want to be rude, so he exhaled before answering, trying to make his tone sound as neutral as possible.

“I’m on the morning shift tomorrow. You should come by the record store one day, say hello, maybe buy your girlfriend something nice.”

Her eyebrows got closer to one another and she looked at him with a confused expression, “Listen Ed, I know you hate party people but—”

Edward was not able to hear the end of her sentence. Someone cursed, and then cursed some more. Loudly. And a mere second later, Oswald Cobblepot was pointing a hand covered by dark fingerless gloves toward them. 

“Which one of you morons puked on the floor?”

He was furious, but Edward could not help but to notice how his dark hair bounced every time he shook his head. Nor the way he was walking towards them, his strut so natural and mesmerizing that he did not register the fact that Oswald was now pointing his index finger at him.

“You. You look the part.”

Edward stuttered, “I—No, I mean. I did not puke. I’m sober.”

Barbara was watching the interaction with unabashed glee, her eyes jumping from Oswald to Edward every time Oswald took a step forward and Edward a step backwards. Soon enough, he was completely backing up, the middle of his back hitting the counter where he had previously enjoyed his diner. He was already having a hard time recalling the way things were before Oswald stormed into his life.

Finally, Barbara talked, her voice on the edge of laughter, “Calm down Ozzie. He didn’t do shit. You really think he,” she patted Edward on the shoulder to accentuate her point, “would be the type to drink and puke in a McDonald’s bathroom? Who would do that anyway. They’re probably long gone.”

She ended her sentence with a wink destined to Edward and he let out a small sigh, almost dropping on his knees to thank her for her service. She had just saved him from Oswald Cobblepot’s wrath, and he did not know if he could properly repay her one day. He would definitely let her have one of those expensive vinyl for free if she ever visited him at the record store. Oswald was torn between being annoyed by the fact that she had called him _“Ozzie”_ and looking like he was on the verge of fainting.

He looked pale in the mugshot they used in the newspapers, but in person, his skin was even more transparent. Edward did not know if it was because pictures could not do his skin tone justice, or because he was probably in dire need of a good night of sleep. After studying his behavior some more, he opted for both of the options. Oswald let himself fall on the chair opposite Ivy, ignoring the way she was drooling on her green sequined top.

“Let’s make one thing clear.” he said, tilting his head up to look at Barbara, “No one calls me Ozzie. Not even my boss. Not even my own mother. But I guess you’re lucky, I’ve just had the worst day, so I’m gonna let this one slide.”

Barbara rolled her eyes at him, “I knew you were boring in real life.”

Edward teared his gaze away from Oswald to look at her, wondering if she was actually planning to get killed by Oswald Cobblepot inside of a McDonald’s before sunrise. Because if that was the case, she was actually about to reach her goal. But Oswald did not seem to take offense. Instead, he produced a lighter and a pack of Lucky Strikes from his leather jacket pockets.

“Anyone wants to smoke?” he proposed.

Barbara snatched the pack of cigarettes from his hand, faster than a panther, “My girlfriend hates people who smoke. So you better go outside before she does something nasty to you. She could scratch you up pretty bad.”

Oswald looked at Ivy for the first time since he had started interacting with them. He shrugged, before standing up, and Edward came up with a lie before his mind even had the opportunity to stop him.

“I do—I want to smoke.”

Oswald took the pack of Lucky Strikes back from Barbara before facing Edward. His look wasn’t judgmental. It wasn’t admiration either. He was just looking at him, and Edward felt his stomach sink and his head spin. And when Oswald started heading towards the stairs, away from him, it was his very heart that hurt then. So bad that he did not immediately hear Oswald when he spoke again since he was too busy trying to decipher what was happening to him.

“Follow me.”

It was only when Barbara pushed him with the palm of her hand that he registered the command. And so he followed him, his hands holding onto the straps of his backpack. He had been ready to leave a few minutes ago, and now he was blindly walking behind Oswald Cobblepot as he was leading him towards the back alley of a McDonald’s. Something had not gone according to plan tonight.

Oswald stopped besides a motorcycle that was parked against the outer brick wall of the fast-food. It looked expensive and new. Edward wanted to ask if it was his, but with the way Oswald was leaning against it, the answer was probably “yes”. Oswald lit up his cigarette first and he gave one to Edward, who took it with trembling fingers. He had never smoked before. Not even tried for the fun of it when he was in high school. He rarely engaged in reckless behavior, but he was proving himself wrong tonight.

Oswald motioned with his index finger, silently asking him to come forward. Edward put the cigarette in between his unpracticed lips, praying to all the gods he could name for it not to fall onto the ground. Oswald put his left hand around the cigarette, shielding it from the wind before lighting the tip. He broke the silence when Edward looked at him quizzically. He really did not know what to do without making a fool of himself and he could not hide it from Oswald.

“Just breathe it in until you can’t take it anymore. The first time is always the worst.”

Edward inhaled the smoke until he wasn’t able to breathe in further. He released the substance in one go, coughing so hard that tears were starting to form in his eyes, blurring his vision. He was able to hear Oswald’s laugh, and then he felt the tip of his fingers brushing against his lips, snatching the cigarette away from him. His other hand quickly swept away a tear on his left cheek, but it was gone before Edward could enjoy the sensation.

“Definitely not your thing.”

Oswald patiently waited for him to calm down. Edward wiped away the remaining tears from his face, embarrassed by the way his treacherous lungs had reacted to the smoke on his behalf. But he was persistent, nevertheless. Oswald swatted his hand away when he tried to reach out for his confiscated cigarette, his head going from side to side to indicate that he was not getting it back.

“Just give me another chance,” Edward found himself pleading.

“No.” 

Oswald said it softly, without really attempting to protest against him, but Edward accepted his fate, letting his hand fall against his hip. Oswald was right. He was not meant for this. Smoking, getting arrested by the cops, working for the mob. He was not made for this life in general. And he was starting to understand the nature of what he felt when he looked at Oswald. Pure temptation. The seducing idea that someone so different from him was within his reach.

He was feeling something. Again. Not happiness, not sadness, none of that, really. He felt it on the tip of his fingers and in the way he wanted the entire universe to stop in order to stay in this moment forever. Desire and fear, dancing inside of his mind, intertwined in a warm and terrible embrace. Oswald finished smoking his own cigarette before putting Edward’s in between his lips.

They looked at each other, each of them studying the other, enjoying the comfortable silence that was now filling the space between them. And for the first time in years, Edward thought that Gotham City could actually be peaceful. He looked at his watch and frowned upon realizing that it was already 1:43am. His night was ruined, in the most delicious way. He looked up at Oswald to find him still looking back at him, an idea clearly blossoming in the back of his mind.

“We could try another way,” Oswald said, whispering the words in a nonchalant way.

It took Edward a few seconds to understand that he was still talking about the cigarette. He, in the meantime, had imagined a plethora of different scenarios, none of which involved getting cancer. But he found himself replying, voice still hoarse from his near-asthma-attack.

“Show me.”

And there was something in his own tone that Edward could not contain. He was almost daring Oswald to take control. To really _show him_ what lied beneath the surface of his proposition. And Oswald accepted his offer without an ounce of hesitation. Edward briefly wondered if Oswald was used to take orders. Or if they were both experiencing something new, at the very same time. Oswald stood up, abandoning the motorcycle behind him, dragging on that cigarette a little bit longer than Edward had witnessed him doing beforehand. Edward did not recoil when his hand cupped the side of his face.

His fingers felt cold against his cheek, but he did not mind it. Not when Oswald was already tilting his face upwards. Not when his lips brushed against his, which caused him to slightly open his mouth in surprise. _This_ was the other way. Everything suddenly made perfect sense. If Edward could not handle the smoke on his own; Oswald was willing to share his expertise. The thought made him blush, and he was glad the faint light of the moon was not enough to expose the colors on his face.

He had shared kisses before. With women exclusively. But he was not against the idea of doing it with someone from the same sex. He had thought about it, countless times, and there was nothing scary about it. What scared him however, for a few seconds, were the conditions surrounding that kiss. Oswald Cobblepot, a man who he knew nothing about, not even his middle name, was about to kiss him in a dark alley. Edward’s mind raced and he begged it to stop. He was a coward sometimes, and a jittery, nervous loser, but he had enough common sense to spot a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

And when his hand joined Oswald’s – against his cheek – he took that opportunity and turned it into a reality. Edward opened his mouth, fully, closing his eyes even before their lips had met. Feeling was better than seeing in those situations, he had learned that lesson the hard way. The exchange was quick, and not at all what he had expected. Oswald had just opened his mouth in turn when their lips had been in contact, letting go of the smoke to release it into Edward’s mouth.

And in a matter of seconds, his hand was not on him anymore, and Edward was left craving the feeling of his lips against his. He felt dumb and naïve and extremely sad all at once. Oswald was leaning on the motorcycle when he opened his eyes, as if nothing at all had happened. Edward felt a chill creeping down his spine. Not the good kind. But rather the ones that come after a long episode of crying or a terrible nightmare. But he had not cried, he had not slept. He was very much awake, and Oswald Cobblepot was finishing the remaining of that cigarette without a word.

Edward cleared his throat, “Is that it?”

Oswald threw the butt of the cigarette on the floor before stomping on it with the heel of his combat boot. There was something about his demeanor that made Edward uncomfortable. He knew that his question had sounded needy and expectant. And he stood in front of Oswald, with both hands inside of the front pocket of his hoodie, waiting for an answer. He had allowed him to interfere with his life. The meaning of those Friday nights would not be the same, not ever, and he needed something else, something more.

“Is that what?” Oswald asked, zipping up his leather jacket and searching for his motorcycle keys.

Edward was speechless. He felt the sudden urge to scream at his own self for being so idiotic. Nothing, absolutely nothing in Oswald’s behavior had shown that he had even the slightest interest in him. Edward had always been a daydreamer, he had always lived inside of his own mind, and that practice had bled out of the confines of his skull and onto his real life.

“I—never mind, forget about it.”

Oswald was already sitting on his motorcycle, holding his silver and purple helmet in both hands, a smug grin plastered on his face. Edward wanted to scream at him, for playing with his emotions, even though Oswald had done nothing of the sort. Edward’s hands were starting to sweat and his knees felt weak. So that was how he would remember his first kiss with a man. He was in the midst of swearing to his own self that he would never set foot in that McDonald’s again when Oswald snapped his fingers right in front of his face.

“Hello? Did you hear what I said?”

The buzzing in Edward’s head stopped, and he blinked, looking at Oswald with a dazed expression. He only shook his head left and right, unable to produce a sound.

“I said,” Oswald repeated before putting his helmet on, “we should probably get to know each other before properly kissing. Don’t you agree?”

And again, Edward was speechless. And he felt infinitely dumber for being mad at Oswald a few seconds before. He was torn between wanting to scream and the urgent need to laugh, so he settled for a simple nod. Of course he agreed. Oswald motioned to the spot behind him on the motorcycle and Edward sat there, leaving his arms hanging by his side. Oswald sighed, already amused by his behavior, and grabbed his hands to pull them around his chest.

“There,” he said, “if you don’t want to die: hold on tight.”

And Edward did as he was told. He squeezed Oswald so much that the latter was sure he heard a few ribs cracking. Oswald started the engine, and Edward was too busy resting his cheek against the cold leather on his back to mind the roaring sound it made. He was still trying to process what was happening, but Oswald did not give him enough time to dwell on his thoughts. Instead, he asked him a very simple question. 

“What’s your name by the way?”

Edward stopped thinking about the fact that he was probably going to be late to work the next morning. Or about the idea that very soon, Oswald would be kissing him properly. And that maybe, if he were lucky, they would share much more than just a kiss. His cheeks started heating up with the mere idea of Oswald desiring him as much as he did right now. And this time, the chill was different. It was pleasant. Edward truly enjoyed Friday nights.

“Edward. But you can call me Eddie.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69.


End file.
